The Spells We Know
by Galae
Summary: When Dumbledore organizes a fair, the results are more than he expected . . . (Slash). Now with Epilogue
1. Peelings and Pleadings

__

Comments:

This started out as a light piece inspired by _Charmed_ and turned into something so much *longer!* than what I expected. Then and again, all my stories go long. 

This takes place during Harry's seventh year (again) and after the war (again). ::sighs:: I'm sorry, I don't do chanslash and angst well! Don't you know I love parentheses? (yes)

And please note that this _was _going to be rated NC-17 in the future, but not anymore. If some parts seem funny, forgive me.

___________________________________________________________________________

****

The Spells We Know

__

by Galae

Chapter 1: Peelings and Pleadings 

It had become quite common for Harry to begin the year on a sour note. He noted that, dutifully, but still it came to pass as quite an accomplishment that he only spent six minutes in Hogwarts before McGonagall took off ten points from Gryffindor. For dozing off during the Sorting, of all things. 

Well, Harry couldn't help it. His magic was solely missed during the summer vacations, when nightmares recalling the last days of Voldemort's final rise and destruction plagued him till no end. It was now called the Hundred Days, inspired by the Muggle term for a similar situation.

The first week of school was rather uneventful, though. However ungrateful he must have looked to McGonagall, the fact is that Harry _was_ glad to be back at Hogwarts. It was nice to hear Ron muttering about Snape's unfairness again, or to see Hermione reprimanding Neville for doing a charm wrong. It was _normal_.

But still, the scars of Voldemort still lingered, in more than one place. There were empty seats once occupied by students. Professor Cateby, the only DADA teacher who lasted more than a year, was gone forever. Too many of the students had lost family members or friends in the battlegrounds.

So no wonder Dumbledore decided to do something about the gloom-and-doom. He frankly told all them during dinner one night that they need a great deal of cheering up and he's going to do it. There would be a "fair" at the school at the end of every month from now to the end of the school year. 

"Gods' sakes, and I thought that Lockhart was banished forever," mumbled Ron. 

"At least Dumbledore would have better decorating tastes," Harry said, mitigating his tartness. "It might be fun, if he organizes it." 

"I guess . . ." Ron said reluctantly. 

The truth was that they all welcomed the fair. They needed a distraction. And that's all they thought it was.

Dumbledore introduced the booths one by one. The Great Hall had been cleared, and colorful banners and tables and displays had taken their place. Many sixth- and seventh-years had volunteered to man the booths, and they were all stood up as their booth was announced. Harry admitted to himself that he would have liked to take one, but his grades were so abysmal last year that he needed all the study time he could get. 

" . . . And the next one is one of my favorites," Dumbledore was saying. "It is the Love Prophet. I have personally placed a spell on each basket of apples so that when their peel is removed and placed in the water, they will spell out the initials of your sweetheart." Titters from the crowd. Dumbledore winked. "I expect that they will be popular with the older kids. And don't forget the faculty! I expect a few of them have some deep dark secrets!"

Hooch was giggling. Flitwick tried valiantly to laugh. Snape looked like somebody just dumped the contents of Neville's cauldron in his mouth.

"And moving on to the Balloon Pop. . ."

"A true love booth, huh?" Harry mused. "Sounds like fun."

Hermione blushed furiously. Ron pretended to gag. 

But nevertheless, two hours later, they headed for the booth. The line was the longest there. It seemed like although nobody wanted to admit it, everybody wanted to know. But as soon as they got in line, Hermione said she wanted to see the other booths.

"C'mon, 'Mione," Ron said. "We're doing it. Aren't you just a bit curious?"

"No, it's just that . . . it's Divination, right, and you know how much I hate it . . ." Hermione stammered.

"Oh no, not that Divination-is-the-bane-of-magic crap," groaned Ron.

Harry could see through it perfectly, but he told Hermione to see what's at the next booth. She made her exit quickly.

After a few minutes, they were next. Harry told Ron to go first, and he shrugged and stepped up. Harry was a little nervous for some unknown reason. He sighed and attributed it to his very sorry love life as of now.

"So, does it really predict your true love?" Harry asked the apple-peeler, a friendly Ravenclaw by the name of Evaline Clachett. 

"Not really," she said with a slight giggle. "Dumbledore exaggerated. All it tells you is the one you desire most right now. It's so helpful because not many people really know who their hearts are longing for. Flo Anderson burst into tears because Jason got the initials D. R."

"In that case maybe you should put up a warning sign," Ron said.

"We'll do that next time," Evaline promised as she finished the peel. "Okay. Now, put your hands on the side of cauldron. Yes, like that. Hold them there." She dropped the apple peels in the water. Harry watched, fascinated, as the peels unfolded and curled until they very auspiciously said "H. G."

"H. G.?" Ron read, furrowing his brow. "Who has the initials H. G.?"

"That's for you to find out," said Harry, who knew exactly what the initials stood for. "Okay. I'm next."

"Ooo, let's see who the great Harry Potter desires," Evaline said wickedly. 

Harry ignored her and placed his hands on the cauldron like Ron did. She dropped two apple peels into the water. He waited very patiently as they _slowly_ moved around the water and settled in their positions. Maybe they would spell "You're a heartless bastard," Harry thought idly. Oh well. He tuned into reality again. The peels had become letters.

"S. S.?" Harry asked. "What demonic idiot has the initials S. S.?"

"That's for you to find out," Ron said automatically.

Evaline peered into the water. "Yep, that's what it says, all right. Darn. I was so sure it'd say E. C. Oh well. Anyways, happy hunting, you two!"

Harry couldn't stop thinking about the initials. Were they real? They had to be, since Dumbledore said that he did the spell. He even checked up the spell he did. It was perfectly legitimate.

So he does have his heart on someone. Who was it? The preoccupation with the whole business earned him a melted cauldron and fifteen points from Gryffindor. Snape sneered, as if he expected nothing less from him. 

"You want to go find out the initials?" Harry whispered to Ron as he wiped up his mess.

"Sure," he replied.

They waited until Friday because the fair had caused a stampede to find names. Harry was in no mood to shuffle with half the school. 

They went up to the Hall of Names. There, every student that had passed through Hogwarts had their name carved up in the wall, arranged by year and then by alphabetical order. Harry tried to fight to the lump in his throat as he saw how incredibly shorter this year's list was.

He looked over all the S's. Sachez, Leona. Saddard, Dylan. Schmidt, Christyne. Setierm, Alca. Smith, Eva. Smith, Gregory. Smith, Jonathan. Smith, Matthew. Smith, Vanderbilt. Sochard, Benjamin. Spinnet, Alicia. Spinnet, Natalie. Strong, Claire. 

No S. S.

He felt something like relief and disappointment knotted together. Well. Maybe it's a Muggle, then.

Harry wandered over to the right, no longer looking for anybody but just gazing at the list of names and picking out the ones he knew. After Brian Zavety, he found himself at the teacher's section. Lupin, Remus . . . McGonagall, Minerva. . . Pomfrey, Poppy. . . Snape, Severus.

Harry stopped. Blinked and looked at it. 

It can't be.

Snape.

Severus.

S. S.

He slipped.

___________________________________________________________________________

See that little button down there? I'm starting a new club called Read Endeavors and Very Informatively Encourage Works, otherwise known as R.E.V.I.E.W. Please join.


	2. Lovely Knowledge

__

Comments:

Wow! 

That's all I've got to say. I was staring at my statistics and I was absolutely amazed. Nothing had prepared me for this! Thank you so much for all your reviews and support. You are incredible!

In response, here is chapter two.

___________________________________________________________________________

****

The Spells We Know

__

by Galae

Chapter 2: Lovely Knowledge

Ron said later that he heard a yell, and then a muffled thump.

"Are you alright?" he gasped.

"Oh, yeah," said Harry, struggling to get up. "Fine. Just dandy."

"What happened? Did anything happen? Wha—"

After Ron helped him up, he saw what Harry was looking at.

"The teacher's section? Are you trying to find—oh my God. Oh my God. This isn't good."

Harry leaned forward to catch him if he fell.

"But it can't be, can it? The spell must have been flawed." Ron was looking at his best friend wildly, as if asking him to deny the allegations vehemently.

"It could be, but seeing how it was Dumbledore who set it, it wasn't. And besides, _you_ got Hermione," Harry pointed out, oblivious to the fact that Ron was looking thoroughly embarrassed. 

"It couldn't be true though . . . could it?"

"He's an utter git," Harry said shortly. "If I'm harboring any deep desires for . . . _him_, you'd be the first to know. Personally, I just think that the spell failed on me. I dunno, maybe the cauldron knows I'm nuts . . ."

Unfortunately for Harry, Hermione was more doubtful about the malfunction of the spell. She treated it like a research project, pointing out all the evidence that showed it was a good spell. The only evidence she didn't gather was Ron's initials, as Harry was under strict orders not to tell.

"But you don't think it's true," Harry insisted. "I can't be in love with _Snape_!"

After two days, he had mustered up the courage to ditch "him" and actually start using his name.

"This is what's called a quandary," said Hermione, sighing as she put away _Greatest Love Spells of the Century_. "I don't think you're . . . interested in him. But I don't think that Dumbledore's spell failed, either."

"Given the chance, which one would you put your money on?" Harry demanded.

Hermione blushed. Not a good sign.

"No," said Harry. "You won't."

"I'm sorry. It's just that. It's Dumbledore. If it was anybody else . . . The thing is, Harry, evidence points to the fact that you have more of a chance of being . . . whatever with Snape than Dumbledore failing a simple love spell."

Harry slumped in his chair. He liked Snape. Was it true? Or was this just all a hoax? Is anything going to make sense again?

Hermione peered at him. "You're not going to—I mean—you wouldn't _confront_ him—would you?"

"No!" Harry cried, aghast. "Are you crazy? 'Excuse me, Professor Snape, but I think I want to shag you.' He'd send me on a one-way trip to St. Mungo's! I think _I'd _send me to St. Mungo's!"

"So what _are _you going to do?" 

"So what _am_ I going to do?" Harry finished, looking at Draco. 

"Wait a minute, let me finish this sentence."

Harry resisted the urge to clobber him on the head. "Draco! I'm in the middle of one of the biggest crises of my life, and all you could do is finish your _homework_? If I need professional help, you need a psychologist with a doctorate!"

"I've heard of weirder stuff than this." Draco said, penning the last word. 

Harry didn't know whether or not to be comforted by that.

"So?"

"You're in love with my Head of House? What can I say about that?"

"I'm _not_ in love with him! He's a greasy bastard!"

"Hey! Don't get me started on McGonagall!" Draco protested.

"If you told me you were in love with her, I would have paid more attention than you are," Harry said. He sighed. "Please."

Draco rolled up his parchment. "Harry," he said, "I know you're dying for me to tell you that you don't like him. I know that you're shocked and disbelieving. But the thing is, I . . . I don't find that so surprising."

"WHAT?" Okay. That boy had some serious explaining to do.

"I mean." Draco paused to mutter a spell. A glass of pumpkin juice appeared. "This might take a while," he explained. He sipped the juice slowly, put it down, and faced Harry. Harry had seen this somewhere. In the Muggle courtroom shows. It's a delaying tactic.

"I mean, with the war and everything, it seemed like you two haven't been at each other's throats that much. You've been working together." Draco stopped. "Very loosely speaking. And it seems like Severus haven't been that hard on your House, or you for that matter, since Voldemort was killed."

Harry nodded. He had noticed that Snape haven't been giving him many detentions. Well. Not _that_ many. Lately, in fact, it seemed more like Snape doesn't even know he exist.

"I think the Hundred Days had changed both of you. I know that you two think more highly of each other than what you started out with. But, of course, you both would rather go to Azkaban than to admit it."

Right again. Damn him.

"And plus, you've been looking at each other. Not in a bad way, either."

"Oh no you don't. You stop right there, Draco Malfoy," said Harry, threateningly. "I do _not_ look at Snape. He does not look at me. We do not look at each other, period. We hate each other."

Draco unfolded a new piece of parchment and dipped his quill into the inkwell.

"No. You're not doing your homework again."

"When you're done with the denial phase, tell me," Draco said placidly.

"It's not denial, it's _truth!_" Okay, that sounded lame, even to his own ears. 

"Are you sure?"

"I don't know!" Harry really felt like smashing something. Funny, he usually isn't violent, contrary to many beliefs. He was just . . . frustrated. "I mean, how am I going to know for sure? I'm confused."

"There's one thing to do then," said Draco, perfectly calm. "Take over the booth next month. Get Severus's heart's desire. If he gets your initials, then, well, you work it out. If he doesn't, just get on with your life."

Leave it up to Draco to make things sound so simple. "Of course," Harry said dumbly, wondering how he survived the war with such a clueless brain. Maybe this is what Snape had been carping about all these years.

Ugh. Snape. He seriously did not want to think about him any more.

Scratch that. Harry was definitely thinking about Snape. So much that it made him blush at times. If Draco had been in his place, he would have had his composure and patience. Harry didn't have either.

For example, he was now doing even worse in Potions. All too often, he'd catch himself staring at his professor for minutes at a stretch, trying to figure it all out. Like, if he could possibly be attracted to him. 

"Potter, is there a problem?" Snape wasn't even looking at him. He was busy making some complicated-looking potion that involved dried batwings.

Harry told himself not to stare at that stoic, impassive face. He forced his eyes back to his cauldron. "No, Professor," he said, trying his best to do the I-am-the-poor-prejudiced-victim voice. "Sorry."

"Ten points from Gryffindor the next time I find you inattentive to your lessons, Mr. Potter. Twenty points if you don't have your potion correct," Snape said crisply. 

Harry looked at Draco. The other boy shrugged and smiled a little. 

But after Hermione signaled to him the right ingredients and procedures, Harry had time to stare at Snape again, but this time just looking at his hands. That was when he realized that the man had beautiful hands. They were graceful—every move was a ballet. His skin was perfectly unmarred, very surprising considering what he did everyday. Lovely, long fingers picked up sprigs of ragweed and diced cricket legs. All of the sudden, Snape made Potions a very, very refined art.

That was when Snape stood up and swept over. A month Harry would have quaked. But now he tingled with . . . anticipation? Yes, the white, elegant hands were resting on his table, and then one hand lifted to retrieve a sample of his potion. The man was close. So close. 

Okay. Breath in, breath out. You are not going to hyperventilate. Doesn't matter that the man is so close that you could feel the heat coming off of him. Doesn't matter that those hands are almost brushing against your arm. It's a small space. Perfectly acceptable. You are definitely _not_ getting dirty thoughts about your professor.

"I see, Potter, that your cheating skills have become more refined over time. Ten points from Gryffindor."

Old habits die hard. Harry opened his mouth to protest. That was a bad decision. He was staring into a pair of dark, shrouded eyes that told nothing, and he forgot everything except to find out. Harry jerked his head away. 

If Snape was surprised at his lack of retort, he didn't show it. But it seemed almost as if he paused for a moment before moving on.

Yes, Harry was definitely _not_ having thoughts about Snape. Then why was he feeling . . . not disgusted at the thought of those long, talented fingers on his skin?

___________________________________________________________________________

What did you think? Remember: R.E.V.I.E.W.


	3. Thineself

I know. You don't have to jump on me. It's been a week—or two. Please forgive me, but somewhere over the rainbow I have a life outside fanfiction and I barely have enough time to _sleep_, let alone go edit fics, write disclaimers, through the Document Manager, and save stuff as HTMLs. Not to mention my Internet usage was, err, _terminated_ for a few days. 

But, never fear, noble readers, for thy quest is at an end. Here is Chapter 3.

___________________________________________________________________________

****

The Spells We Know

__

by Galae

Chapter 3: Thineself

The next week went by in a blur. It was harder and harder to reclaim the old "normal" life. Because the "normal" student does not look at a teacher, much less a teacher he hated, in The Different Way.

But then and again, he was Harry Potter.

He was actually looking forward to Potions now. Every day seemed to bring something. Even though Harry told himself that he was shocked by all the realizations he was making, he couldn't help but feel . . . fulfilled.

It seemed like a great curtain had lifted. As soon as he stopped refusing to see, it was as if everything fell into place. 

At the end of the week, Harry admitted to himself that yes, he was, um, _interested_ in Severus Snape. He wanted to touch those thin lips. He wanted to see what was under those layers and layers of clothes. He wanted . . . him.

He didn't tell anybody, though. He knew how they would react. Ron would choke and sputter and pass out. Hermione would look at him for a few minutes, ask some solemn questions that make you think of quantum physics, and then give him the "I told you so" look. Draco would laugh and make a smutty joke. At which Harry would promptly bash _The Standard Book of Spells_ over his head.

Which led to the second, very serious question. When Evaline said "the one that you desire most," did she mean _physically_? Or emotionally? As shocking as the physical attraction might seem, Harry had gotten over it rather quickly. Emotional, well, that was a different matter. Harry spent a week and a half lying in bed and trying to figure out if there was anything about the man he liked other than that great arse.

There was Snape's intellect, of course. And then his character, which was way underrated. His prudence. His honesty. Even, to some weird extent, his daring. The word was weird when applied to Severus Snape. Before, Harry had only thought of Sirius as a risk-taker. But now he thought about what Snape did everyday before Voldemort was killed. An agent. A professor. A spy. A traitor. A fighter.

He did without thought or doubt, walked the fine line, knowing he could teeter off at any minute.

And Harry thought that his situation was bad. At least he was in a black-and-white world. Good/bad. My side/their side. Winning/losing. It was so simple for him. 

It was on one of those nights that a sudden image came to him and never exited from his life again. Harry had previously refused to remember anything from the Hundred Days. But now the picture burned. 

He saw it on the inside of his eyelids, a slow motion camera. It was not of Hermione, or of Ron, or even of Dumbledore. It was of Snape, of course. 

He saw himself lying on the cold, damp ground, with blood seeping through from an ache in his arm. His scar was burning—burning—and it was only then that he realized it was burning itself out. Like a fiery flame, a brand upon his skin, it was dying.

And then he lifted himself off the ground. His glasses were knocked askew on his face, slime and dried blood making it worthless. He cleaned it off, gingerly, even as his arm threatened to explode. Harry walked forward.

All of the sudden the great, flat boulder in front of him shifted and started to move. Harry jumped back, brandishing his wand with a grace that belied the after-battle conscience. But the person sensed a wand pointing at him and whipped around. It was then that Harry found himself face to face with Snape.

His face was even more sallow and angular than ever, although now his hair looked dry and brittle. Black robes that were supposed to blend into the night created a startling glow of their own, until Harry realized that it was the little embers of fire dying. 

He had never seen a more powerful image.

"Professor," he said, slowly.

Snape nodded brusquely. "Potter."

"Your Mark . . .?"

"Oh, yes," said Snape, almost carelessly. "It will be gone."

Harry bit his lips. "I—I don't know. I think I hurt my arm."

Snape peered at him for a minute, then with a long, tapered finger pointed his wand. Harry opened his mouth in shock, not knowing what to scream—and then—

It was gone. The pain, the dizziness. All that was left was a brown splotch on his shirt where his wound had been. Harry rolled up his sleeve hastily. It was gone.

"Thanks," he said weakly.

Snape nodded curtly. "Go seek out Albus, then. I will . . . stay a while longer."

"All right," mumbled Harry.

"Potter."

"Yes, Professor?" 

Snape was looking at him while an odd semblance of a smile on his face. "I am glad you survived."

__

I am glad you survived. Harry played those words in his head, remembering every expression on Snape's face, remembering the low, flat tone in which it was spoken. 

Did he mean it?

Or, which way did he mean it? In a comrade-in-arms way, in a friend-to-friend way, in a professor-to-student way, in an I-hate-you-but-I-have-been-stuck-with-you-for-seven-years way?

Or in that completely different way altogether?

Harry shook his head. He was losing a lot of sleep.

The next month came quicker than he expected. The next thing Harry knew, he was standing behind a huge polished black cauldron, saying, "Put your hands on there, please."

Ron had (grudgingly) agreed to help him in the task, while Hermione shot him a surprised look. So the stage was set.

All he needed was the lead actor.

Draco came by. When he saw Harry, he detached himself from the group of Slytherins and walked over. 

"So?"

"Nothing," Harry said. "I think I'm going to duck out."

"No, you're not. Leave everything to me." With that, he strode away.

Draco has some connections, because during a lull in business Snape was peering into the booth next to theirs and moving on.

Harry's hands quaked. Should he? Or shouldn't he? All of the sudden, his mouth felt drier than dust. He didn't think he could breathe, let alone speak. This was happening a lot recently in Snape's presence.

"Professor Snape," he heard his mouth saying, like listening to a stranger's voice. "Would you like to have a try?"

Snape paused his steps to squint at the florid sign ornamenting the booth. "The Love Prophet?" he sneered. "I thought that even _you_ would have better taste than this, Potter."

"It does good for the school," said Harry, trying to stop his voice from shaking. 

Snape shook his head. "No, thanks."

Harry glared at him. The next words burst out of him without thought. "What, are you afraid?"

Magic words. All of the sudden, Snape's eyes sparked a little bit. _So,_ Harry thought idly, _I suppose challenges do work_.

"I assure you that I am not," Snape stated. "What do I have to do?"

"Place your hands, on the cauldron. Like so . . ." Satisfied, Harry picked up an apple and started peeling it. 

"What is this ridiculous booth supposed to do?"

"Tell you who you're longing for the most right now," Harry said evenly. 

Snape gave an impatient snort. "It will fail on me."

"No, it won't." To shut him up, Harry dropped two peels into the cauldron. They were long and thin, so that there could be no ambiguity as to their connotations.

For a minute, Harry thought that Snape was right, that the spell was going to fail. Because the peelings did not move at all. 

Then, slowly, as if trying to decipher its originator's mind and heart, they started to swim tranquilly through the water. The peels slowed into positions.

Harry's heart stopped.

"H. P.? Bloody hell. Well, at least it's not Hooch," Snape said plainly. He walked away, leaving Harry standing stock-still, stunned to the core.

___________________________________________________________________________

Thoughts, anyone?

When I asked for a beta reader at the end of "New York, New York," I received a lot of enthusiastic replies. What I did not count on was the fact that I would have trouble contacting a lot of you. I still need betas (as you probably could see). If you want to read chapters ahead of time, and don't mind it in Word format, please _e-mail me_ at **marieblanche00@yahoo.com**. It would be so much simpler for me. Thanks!


	4. Love and Let Love

Ah, the beginning of the holiday season. Got yelled at for not putting the Christmas ornaments on right. Goodwill towards all men!

Here's the fourth chapter of "Spells." The fifth chapter might take even longer to write, because I have so much to do. But I'll deliver, I promise! I'm not letting this fic dangle.

Thanks for all your reviews!

_______________________________________________________________________________________

****

The Spells We Know

__

by Galae

Chapter 4: Love and Let Love

Harry found himself standing outside Snape's office that night. His clothes were scented with apple juice,and hishands sweaty and cold. 

He knocked.

The door flew open on the third knock, just when he was going to turn away. "Potter? What do you want?" 

"P-Professor," Harry chattered. "May I come in?"

"For gods' sakes, it's eleven at night!"

"I need to talk to you."

Snape gave him an assessing look. Harry gathered he must have looked traumatic, because his professor sighed resignedly and let him in.

"What do you want?" he repeated.

"I said that I needed to talk."

"What do you—" Snape stopped. "If it is about that lurid booth, Potter, I can assure you that I have no inclinations whatsoever to investigate the results of that bloody spell."

Harry sat down on an armchair. After the many times he had been in that office, he found that he was able to find his way around pretty well now. "That is a shame," he said, not looking at Snape. "Because that is what I've come here for."

Snape settled into the other chair. "Potter, you are wasting your time. Why should I care about whose initials I got?" Snape asked derisively. 

"Because," Harry said, looking straight into Snape's face, "_my_ initials are H. P."

For a fraction of a second, he looked taken aback by his abruptness. Then a sneer appeared on his face and he said carelessly, "Yes, yes, yours and half a million other people's. Tsk, tsk, but I believe I have overestimated your intelligence over the years."

"Wha-t!" That was _not_ the answer Harry was expecting. 

The sneer only grew wider. "You have no idea, do you? Dumbledore was quite successful in making your booth trivial in importance. Initials are nothing. Why, do you even know how many _Harry Potter_'s there are in the world? Let alone H. P.? It means nothing. And if you are halfway _implying_ that my heart's love is your bratty self, I wonder at your sanity, Potter. You would be sadly, _very_ sadly mistaken. It is a fair coincidence."

"No. It is not a coincidence," Harry said evenly. "And I am not mistaken. You know why I took the booth this month? Because last month, I went to the exact same place, did exactly what you did. And you know what initials I got? _Do you know what initials I got_?" 

Snape was silent.

"S. S." said Harry furiously. He had to stop himself from wringing his hands. "You know who has the initials S. S.? _You_." 

That was when Snape stood up. "A mere accident, Potter. Nothing to snap your idle mind over."

Harry followed him. "Really, Professor? Do you really believe that that is an accident? Tell me that it is. Because I really, really do not believe so."

Fire crackled in the air. There. He had said it.

Snape turned around suddenly. Harry blinked, finding himself face-to-face with the man who had been his mind and heart for the last month. Snape looked tired, all of the sudden. "What do you want, Potter?"

"I want to see if it's real. If the spell . . . if the spell actually worked." Harry licked his lips unconsciously.

Snape studied him. "And what do you suggest would dissipate that absurd notion from your mind?"

"A simple kiss, of course." 

Snape looked stupefied. "You want—you _want_—what?"

"A kiss. If it is as you said, that I am an ignorant brat, then nothing will happen." Harry said clearly. "And then we can go back to our lives, knowing that the possibility is quenched. I would never bother you again. Your _mind_ would never bother you again. But if we don't . . ."

With a pang, Snape realized that Harry had capitalized on his greatest fear—that what the little bastard said tonight might haunt him for God knows how long. 

"Very well," he said, voice cracking. 

Harry gave him a smile. He took a step forwards, minimizing the space between them. Slowly, he raised a hand to Snape's face, trailing a finger from the corner of his eye to his cheek, and then down, to his neck, to where his skin met his collar. Snape's skin was amazingly smooth. 

He raised his lips to meet him.

He was so warm. At first Snape did not move, but then Harry wound his arms around his neck and his tongue peeked out, urging his mouth to open. When Snape did, Harry was swept away. A hot tongue met his, and he descended into that lovely silk that he had been waiting for for so long. His tongue slid in and out of Snape's mouth, and somewhere along the way Snape began to mirror his movements. He had wanted this before, and now he felt like he never wanted to stop. 

Snape made a little sound at the back at his throat, and that just inflamed him even further. Harry moaned instinctively and dove into the kiss, claiming that talented mouth for himself for once and for all. He pulled that slim, tall body close to his own, hearing his blood rushing in his ears, and knew that he was never going to be the same again.

But when Snape tugged his lips away finally, Harry realized that yes, perhaps he did need to breathe after all. He gasped for air. Snape's eyes were closed, eyelashes forming deep arches in the firelight, and a slight flush had bloomed on that pale cheek. Harry shivered, wondering if that was what he looked like in the afterglow.

"Now," he purred, throatily. "Now, do you believe me?"

Snape's eyes flew open and he jerked away. "Potter." Without another word, he stalked away, plunging himself into a chair.

Harry felt his pulse slowly returning to normal. He felt cool, lightheaded as he made his way to where Snape was sitting. "You know it's true," he said. "The spell spoke the truth. I want you, and you want . . . me."

"No, Potter!"

Harry blinked. "What?"

"Potter—Harry," Snape corrected himself, ironically noting the situation. "I need . . . some time."

"Time?"

"Yes, time." Did Harry always act like such an idiot in times of lust? Snape realized that he had just put "Harry" and "lust" in the same sentence together. The world was definitely going to explode sometime soon. Maybe Voldemort was alive after all.

"Time," Snape said, collecting his thoughts once again. "You had a month's worth of time to think about this, if your tale was true. Did it ever occur to you that I might need the same? As much as this might surprise you," he added dryly, "I am _not_ coerced into such activities on a daily basis."

"Coerced?" Harry's mouth dropped open. "You—you wanted it!"

"'But if we don't . . .'" Snape quoted.

"You liked it!" 

"I—we are not discussing this right now, Po—Harry! This is a delicate situation, a potentially dangerous one if Al—anyone finds out. I need time to think about this. What did you expect, Harry, that I was going to jump into bed with you? I'm sorry to offend your obviously enormous ego, but if you took a month to work yourself up to this, I need at least as long. No, contrary to your belief, I am not any more fonder of the idea of this than you were a month ago."

Harry shut his mouth. He had never thought about it before.

"I _know_ you've never thought about it," Snape continued, eyes boring very indignantly into Harry's. "What did you think, that your old, staid, ugly, sex-deprived Potions teacher would jump on you like a ram in mating season?"

"I—" It was a very attractive image, but Harry shook it away. "All right, I get your point. How much time do you need?"

Snape looked at him. "As much as I will need. Now go to your dorm."

A second later, Harry was stumbling out the dungeons, head spinning, wondering what the hell had just happened.

_______________________________________________________________________________________

"The weather outside is frightful . . . but the fire is so delightful."

Obviously, somebody had been to my town.

Snow City, USA. A foot and a half of snow and no snow day in sight. The people down in North Carolina get an inch and they're freaking out. Down here, it just means that you'd have to start your car an hour early tomorrow.

__

Anyways, I'd appreciate more members in R.E.V.I.E.W!


	5. The Constitution of the Quest

_Author's Note:_

This chapter's probably a little less exciting or a little less light than all of the other chapters.  But I feel that it's justified in the context of the situation—after all, how many times do things turn out differently than we expected?  I hope that no one is really disappointed.

It's been taking me longer to update because my life's been pretty…confusing lately.  Let's just say that this V-day, I'm not going to be celebrating it with anybody.

::sigh:: There must be a reason why slash writers don't meet their perfect matches.  95% of us are women, and the most likely the other 5% are gay!

______________________________________________________________________________________________

**The Spells We Know**

**_by Galae_**

Chapter 5:  The Constitution of the Quest

            So.  That wasn't such a bad way to end it.  

At least, that was how Harry chose to look at it.  

The most important conclusion he came to that night, after staring at the ceiling for five hours, was that Snape neither killed him nor rejected him.  It was only when the wee rays of the pink-fingered Dawn came creeping upon the horizon, that Harry realized yes, sleep might be a nice thing.

He did realize as well that he took extra care in how he dressed the next day.  He was aware that he slid into his chair in Potions with his eyes fixed on his teacher.  Who ignored him as perfectly as if he had on his Invisibility Cloak.

Maybe it was Harry's nervousness.  Or maybe it was just his determination to get_ him, no matter how much it took.  But he was a little louder in class, a little more sociable, a little merrier and just a little more vivacious.  And he continued being loud, sociable and vivacious throughout the week._

It happened on Friday.  "So I was sitting there, right, minding my business, and all of the sudden, this ball just whams into me, bam!  And I almost fell off my broom.  That was the first time in two hundred years that a Snitch had run into a Seeker.  Of course, Wood—"

"Mr. Potter."

Oh.  Whoops.  Harry lifted his head up slowly, even though he hardly needed to.  He had memorized that voice in his sleep.

"Professor," he whispered.

"If you used just a fraction of your raconteur skills on your potion, you might find that you will actually pass this course," Snape said, his lips curved into his usual sneer.  "I suggest that you at least keep up the illusion of trying."

Ouch.  

That was the major turning point.  Harry realized that no, Snape would not be attracted to a mindless gab, however popular he is.  Or else Snape would have gone for Seamus Finnigan years ago.  No, he needs to stop pretending.  It's uncomfortable, it's fake, and Snape could see through it in an instant.  Snape was probably laughing at his stupidity right then and there.

But what Harry could do, was prove him wrong.  "_I suggest that you at least keep up the illusion of trying?"  Hah!  He'll show him.  _

Ron and Hermione were amazed about the turnaround that Harry made in the next two weeks.  At least, Hermione was amazed and Ron was grudgingly approving.  "Harry, you're turning into _Percy!_" the latter blurted out one day.  Harry looked up only briefly from the book he was reading, in order to give a glazed smile.  It was Hermione who gave the greater reaction.  "Really, Ron," she had said reproachfully.  "You're acting like it's a bad thing."

His glasses had attained the tendency to slip down the bridge of his nose.  He was reading quite often now.  Even though Harry had no way of showing off his newfound enthusiasm for learning (without sounding like a prat), he still continued.  Because he had finally understood what it was about.  Knowledge, that which had been the stage scenery to the play about his life, had taken the spotlight.  

Of course, he still had fun.  Being halfway smart didn't have to take up your social life.  Harry was reasonably surprised to find that he had the capacity to do much academia.  Mathematics, which was so crucial to Potions, he developed a fondness for.  Harry saw it like a puzzle, almost, a puzzle in which you held all the pieces in one hand, but one that you had to put together.  

The next Potions test that Snape gave out, he did well.  In fact, he beat out everyone in the class, even Hermione, who shot him a surprised but not distasteful look.  It was the first time he had ever emerged first in a class.  

In the midst of the whirlwind of change, though, Harry had also found himself observing Snape.  Well, more like observing Snape observe him.  The first few times their eyes met, he had looked away quickly, as if somewhat ashamed of being caught.  But then he steadily worked up the courage to hold that fiery gaze for a little longer.  Snape's eyes were inscrutable, of course, but just the sight of those eyes on him was enough to make him tingle.  So, he had not forgotten.

But neither had he forgotten his promise to take as much time as he needed.  Harry had started counting the number of days that had passed.  Thirty-one days.  Thirty-two days.  By the thirty-third, he was starting to worry.  Oh, what was the matter with that man?  Was he that unattractive?  Snape was going to reject him.  Of course.  All his efforts were in vain after all.  Snape was merely choosing an appropriate day to do the task.

It was one unbearably long Potions class.  Snape neither sought him out nor avoided him.  The formality in which his professor treated him was stifling.  It got to the point that halfway through the lesson, Harry wanted to jump up, grab him, and scream, "What _is_ the matter with you bastard?"  Well, either that, or give him a long, slow fuck.  Suddenly, the latter seemed more attractive.

"Mr. Potter," said Snape, as soon as the class was dismissed.  "I wish to see you after dinner, please."

"What's wrong with that Scrooge?" Ron muttered.  "You've been the model student for the last three weeks!  He's going to give you detention for _that_?"

Harry could barely keep his grin from exploding.

He knocked on the door, trying hard not to recall what happened the last time he stood there, doing the same thing.

This time though, the door opened on the first knock.  So.  Snape remembered.  Harry swallowed.

"Come in."

He went in.

Snape had somehow swept into his armchair, and was now sitting pensively on it, one hand propping up his head.  It was such a calm position that Harry believed, for a fraction of a second, that he was intruding on something, that the opening of the door was something of his imagination.  But he bit his lips and walked to the other chair.  He sat down.

"So," Harry began.  But he didn't know what to say next.  All the time he had spent imagining what he would do—namely, feign coolness, be eloquent, and look the man in the eye—was lost.  Snape was staring into the fireplace, and he found himself unable to look at anything else either.

"Yes," Snape agreed.

"Hmm."

Silence for a minute.  It was so thick that you could cut it with a knife.

At last:  "You came."

"Of course I came," Harry said.  His tone was more resentful than he intended it to be.  Oh, God, does he always sound this childish?

Somewhere off to his left Snape rustled.  "I didn't think you would."

Okay.  Now where's the articulate reply to that?  Nothing, he found.

Another rearranging of fabrics.  He wondered if that's what Snape would sound like when he's . . . no.  Bad thoughts.  Bad, _bad thoughts.  Harry shut his eyes and tried to prevent a blush from stealing over his cheek, however unlikely it is that Snape was looking at him._

"I've been thinking," Snape said aloud.

Harry bit back a snarky reply and tried to keep his heart from exploding.  "And?"

Silence.  Oh.  That can't be good.  Breathe, Potter, breathe.

"I was right.  You do have the capacity to do well in Potions, if only you had paid attention all these years."

Disappointment flooded Harry like icy water.  Was _that_ all this is about?  His academic achievements?  Granted, Harry was proud of them, but _still_ . . .

"Oh," he found fit to utter.

That was when he felt a pair of eyes looking steadily upon his face.  He turned his head slowly, lifting his face until he met that gaze.  They weren't that far apart.  In fact, Snape's chair was only a few feet away.  

In the light of the fire, Snape's eyes were not hooded or cloudy, but almost a delicate, chocolate brown.  Harry was mesmerized by their color.  It was like a watercolor brown—the tint was there, but it was somehow clear and diaphanous in the way they reflected the light.  Why hadn't he noticed it before?

"I asked, Mr. Potter, if you would like to help me with some potions."

"It's almost . . . therapeutic," Harry admitted as he chopped up the lacy cricket wings.  "Almost like a Muggle video game.  Gruesome, but therapeutic."

"I am convinced you would know," Snape said archly.

"_I'm_ not the one who makes potions for a living."

"You forget, Potter, that teaching middling neophytes like you is my profession."

"I'm no—"  It was utterly futile.  He was putting up a good fight, but he's going to need to expand his vocabulary greatly.

A glimmer of a smile twitched around Snape's lips.  "It is not a terrible insult, Potter.  It sounds worse than it is."

"Is that what you do everyday, use huge words that don't mean anything but sound nasty?"

Snape made a little sound at the back of his throat.

Instinctively, Harry knew he had heard it before.  Why, yes, the time that they kissed.

He swallowed.  

Ugh.  He now officially needed a shovel to dig himself out of the gutter.

"You may go now."

"What?" Harry asked.  He had been so caught up in his work, in being there, that he felt like he was wading in a dream.

Snape pointed to the absurdly austere clock on the wall.  "It is almost eleven.  It would not be seemly to keep you any longer."

"Oh, I don't mind."

"I didn't ask whether you minded, Potter," Snape said, lip curling a little.  "I merely said it would not be seemly."

His reputation, Harry thought sulkily.  "I don't want to go," Harry said.

"Potter."

Oh no.  Harry girded himself up.

Snape took a little step closer.  Just a tiny fraction of a step, but still, Harry's heart accelerated.  There was a glimmer of a sad smile on Snape's face, and he unconsciously licked his lips as they look at each other.  

Then Snape's hand reached out, and with two fingers he touched Harry's face.  

As soon as it came, though, the touch was gone, and Harry stared at him.  His face burned where those cool fingers had grazed, and his heart fluttered with joy.  His professor was still looking at him with that quiet, regretful smile on his face.  Harry turned mute.

"Go, now," Snape said, softly.

Harry cast his eyes downward and nodded.  He walked away from Snape.

            Then, in an unmistakably ironic tone, Snape called, "I didn't think you'd come."

Harry turned around.  Snape was there, he was leaning against the worktable, and Harry felt lightheaded.  "I wouldn't have missed it for the world," he suddenly blurted out.

"Hmm," Snape said.  "And whose world would that be?"

Silence.

After Snape turned around once more, Harry went back to his dorm.

______________________________________________________________________________________________

R.E.V.I.E.W.

_Please_.

I can't come up with any artistic pleas for reviews anymore.


	6. The Awakening

**Author's Note:**

Hey, hey!  Long time no see!  ::smiles sheepishly::  Sorry.  Next time I don't update for a hundred days, hit me over the head with an e-mail.

___________________________________________________________________________

**The Spells We Know**

**_by Galae_**

****

****

Chapter 6:  The Awakening

Snape never touched him again, after that night.  Harry came to him sporadically, and they always made potions together, but Snape never touched him.  

Harry never said anything about it.

Hermione, ever watchful, asked him, "_Why_ do you sneak off to in the middle of the night?"

He was prepared for this.  Being with Snape taught him to read people, to anticipate.  "_Really_, Hermione, what _do_ people do when they sneak off in the middle of the night?"

She blushed so furiously that Harry thought she was going to choke.  Now, at least that's solved.

The fairs were still going on, but to Harry they lost most of their radiance.  Even the meals, normally so rowdy and exciting the Weasley antics, were now stifling.  Harry found himself always looking up, scanning the crowd for the proper second and a half before resting on his target.  Snape always remained oblivious.  He came, he ate, and he left.  Never once in that sequence did he lift up his eyes to see Harry watching him.

So all it came down to was Harry going to his office at nine o'clock, and reading aloud from recipes for curing headaches, revitalizing pumpkins, and improved cleaning agents.  Snape listened to them dutifully, instructed succinctly, and stirred his cauldron.

"Damn it!" Harry said one night.  "I'm starting to think that you manipulated that spell so that you'd gain a free assistant for your prosaic potion-making!"

"Big words," Snape murmured.  "Does your brain hurt, Mr. Potter?"

"Don't you think that you could maybe, oh, come to terms with the name '_Harry_'?"

"Temper, temper.  You must learn to control it, Potter."

"You ignominious bastard . . ."

Whoops.  That may be going a little too far.  But to his surprise, Snape smiled.

"Excellent.  You might prove halfway a decent equal for me someday."

All that's left of Harry's patience flew out the window.  "What's _wrong_ with you?"

"What's wrong with me?" Snape asked.  His paring knife flew through the cricket wings.

Harry resisted the urge to shove that knife down his throat.  "How can you act like this?"

"Like what?"

"Like . . . nothing happened!"

"Nothing did," Snape reminded him.  "And nothing will."

"What?  How could you say that?  You know full well that there's something between us.  If you're going to totally ignore this . . . whatever this is . . . Then why do you want me here?  Why don't you tell me to get the hell out so I could at least carry on with my life?  Why are you leading me on like this?  Is _anything_ going to happen with us?"

"You prompt me, once again, that you're seventeen years old," Snape said acridly.

"I don't see how—"

"My God, Potter!  Stop thinking with your hormones and start thinking with your _head_!  Do you think that every relationship starts with a wild night of mad, mad passion?  Do you think that I am going to be fool enough not to see through you?"

"You—" Harry gaped at him.

"I am _not_ seventeen, Potter.  Stop thinking that I am.  I have been through so much more than you have . . . and don't give me that I-defeated-utter-darkness crap!  Let me tell you this, Potter.  First of all, I am still your professor.  As lovely as it sounds, I am not going to risk losing my job, and probably my liberty, to aid in your impetuousness.  If we initiate some semblance of a relationship now, do you think that people are not going to find out?  Who do you think is going to be blamed when they do?  You, the shining model of wizarding greatness?  I think not!

"Yes, Potter, I am selfish.  You should know that by now.  And yes, Potter, I think too much.  But it's true.  If you halfway even _decently_ care about my circumstances and my values, kindly never bring this up again."

Harry found his voice.  "So I should never come back again."

Snape didn't say anything.  The paring knife had stopped.  "Whether you come back or not is your decision."

Harry nodded.

He didn't know what to do.  One thing that Snape made perfectly clear that night, and that's that they will have nothing close to a relationship before this year was done.  

_How typical of him_, Harry thought bitterly.  _To put his occupation before this . . ._

Harry threw himself on his bed, hugging a pillow.  The pent-up sexual frustration was too much for him.  He had been celibate for a full three months—his last "relationship" had broke off two weeks before the first fair—and knowing that he's not going to have Snape anytime soon was infuriatingly obvious.

_Think more with your head than with your hormones?  Professor, you're the one to talk!  You should start thinking more with your heart than with your head!_

The next day, Harry's head pounded.  He wouldn't have Potions for a while, so he'd have time to think.  Unfortunately, it didn't come so easily.  As soon as he thought about Snape, anger flared up within him.

"You're with him, aren't you?"

Harry's head snapped up.  "Huh?  What?"

Hermione peered at him, and then leaned back with an enigmatic smile on her face.  "I knew it."

"How—what—I'm _not!_" Harry sputtered.

"Oh, stop offending my intelligence," Hermione said.  "It's so obvious."

Harry coloured.  "How did you know?"

"Harry, you haven't been all right since that day when you found out . . . and then all of the sudden you start studying like crazy?  You become first in our Potions class?  Come _on_, Harry.  I knew that there was something going on, but I didn't realize that it was mutual until you started sneaking down every night.  Speaking of which, that is against school rules."

"For what?" Harry wondered.

Hermione cast a glance around the library.  It was almost empty.  Nevertheless, she muttered a quick spell around their table.  "Fraternizing with a teacher.  Harry, you're putting him in danger."

All of the sudden, something struck him at the bottom of his gut.  The realization hurt like hell.  Harry swallowed.

"Harry, are you okay?"

Harry nodded, ever so slightly as he collected his marbles.  _One step at a time, _he thought.  "Hermione, first of all, I wasn't lying to you when I said I'm not with him.  It's true.  It's not that I don't want to be.  He—he wouldn't let it happen."

Hermione's mouth opened.  "Oh," she uttered.

"Yes.  Oh.  And I—I don't—I didn't think that it was right of him to say so—but now—"

"Oh, Harry," Hermione sighed.  "How could you not realize it?  How could you think that he'd give up so much?  Who did you think he was?  He's _Snape_, for Merlin's sake.  Just because there's attraction between the two of you doesn't make him any less than he is."

"I just thought . . ." Harry said, and then he stopped.  "Oh, goddamn it, he was right.  Again."

"What?"

"'Stop pretending I'm seventeen,'" Harry quoted.  "That's what he told me.  I was too mad at him at the time to think about it, but now . . ."

"He's a grown man, Harry.  He has his responsibilities and his past.  There's so much about him that you probably don't know.  You can't expect this to be like any other fling," Hermione said. 

"I _didn't!_  But can't he at least _acknowledge_ that there's something?"

"I've said this before, and I'll say it again.  He's Snape," Hermione said shortly.

~*~*~

"I can't wait until it's tomorrow!" Ron proclaimed.  "Hogsmeade, here I come!"

"Oh, Ron," said Harry absently.

"C'mon, Gloomy," Ron said.  "You've been so moody lately.  Maybe a coupla Butterbeers might cheer you up, old mate."

Harry smiled.  "Actually, Ron, I'm thinking about staying in Hogwarts."

"_What_?" Ron gasped.

"I have some work to do."

"You're skipping Hogsmeade?"  Harry wished that Ron's mouth would close.

"Yes."

"You're crazy!  There's gotta be some kind of a rule against that!  How could you, Harry?"

"I don't want to go."

"But _Harry_, it's Hogsmeade!  Hello?  Have you been kidnapped by a Death Eater?"  At Harry's admonishing glance, Ron closed his mouth and sighed.  "Sorry.  It's just so unlike you.  Ever since . . . Are you okay, Harry?"

"Yes, I'm fine.  I just . . . I don't feel like it, okay?"  Harry didn't mean to be so defensive, but he was tired to arguing.

Ron nodded.  By the look in his eyes, he was backing off.  All these years, he had learned when Harry needed his own time.

"Okay.  Then you want me to bring back something?"

"No, it's okay.  Thanks, though."

"No prob, Harry."

Harry lay on his bed that night.  He thought.  

After three hours, he slept.

___________________________________________________________________________

Like?  Review!


	7. And Thou

_Author's Note:_

The end must come for all good friends to part.  And you, my anonymous, unknown readers, have been _the_ best.  From your comments and criticisms to your acknowledgement of my (many) idiosyncrasies, thank you for all your support of this story.  Tons of happy wishes go out to my betas.  You have all been so helpful in this entire process.  Anyways, I know you didn't come here to read the ramblings of an insane, neurotic writer!  Here's Chapter 7.

______________________________________________________________________________________________

**The Spells We Know**

**_by Galae_**__

Chapter 7:  And Thou

"What in the Devil's name . . ."

"Nice to see you too."

Harry looked up.

Snape looked down.

"You're back," he said shortly.

"Yes."

A pause.

Snape stepped back.  His eyes were dark, but like onyx mirrors rather than bottomless pools.  

Harry glanced at his feet for a while, and went in.  He slowly went to one of the chairs, but then stopped.  Instead, he walked over to the fire, and stood while Snape closed the door.

He walked towards where Harry stood.  At the invisible two-meter boundary, he stopped.  

For a while the two of them just looked at each other.  Despite the fact that it was morning, the fire was the main source of light, throwing off its golden sparks to all corners of the room.  The dungeon was cooler than usual.

One word: "Why?"

"Because," Harry said slowly, "your world . . . is mine."

It was so quiet that he heard Snape breathe.

That was when Snape looked at him.  And smiled.

Harry felt his heart explode.

He took a step forward, and then lifted up his foot to take another, but he never got to it.  Because in an instant he was holding Snape in his arms, hands sliding over the rich fabric of his robe.  Black hair fell forwards, and Harry ran his hair through the strands, marveling at their texture.  As he lifted his lips.

As they kissed.

Harry had never felt so close to anyone before.

"I love you," he whispered thickly.  

"Harry."  Tremors were running over Snape's body, and Harry ran his hands up and down Snape's back, soothing him.

He looked up, amazed, as Snape closed his eyes.  Their breaths intermingled; the air all of sudden sang of joy.  

"I want you," Harry murmured.

"I . . ."

"It's not against the school rules."  Harry couldn't suppress a smile.  "It's Hogsmeade weekend.  I'm a student who has all the right to leave this building, so I've relieved all the staff of their occupational duties.  You're not my professor anymore—at least, not today."

"Checked all this up, didn't you?" Snape asked.

"Yep.  You don't think Potions textbooks are the only things I read?"

Another pause.

"So . . ." Harry said, languidly kissing a line from Snape's jaw to his collarbones.

"I love you," Snape said.  "And the bedroom's that way."

______________________________________________________________________________________________

So.  What do you think?  Worth waiting (*ahem*) two months for?  REVIEW, _please_!  I'm in the middle of final-exam week and I need them so I wouldn't go insane!

(::hopes that the guilt clause works::)


	8. Enqueue: The Epilogue

_Author's Note:_

All right.  You asked for it.  Here it is: the epilogue to "The Spells We Know."  

Now, this is the LAST CHAPTER.  It's real this time.

______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

**Enqueue **

**Epilogue to "The Spells We Know"**

**_by Galae_**

            Sleepily, Harry opened his eyes.  The windows were unfamiliar—the sunlight was streaming in dully, as if through a complex angle.  He jumped up immediately, reaching for his wand as if to fend off Lord Voldemort at any second.  But no . . . his wand was not there!  Where was it?

That was when he noticed that somebody was lying beside him.  

Oh.

Okay.

So he won't be needing his wand after all.

Carefully lying down, as to not disturbe Snape, Harry resumed his original position.  His lover was breathing evenly as he lay on the bed, still apparently somewhere far, far away from reality.  

This was very new.  Waking up next to somebody.  It should have bothered him a little, because it is so much a signal of commitment and the long-term.  But the truth was that Harry didn't mind at all.  Instead, something akin of peace washed over him as he watched Snape sleep.

So there it was, the invariable truth—that in Harry's world, reality only appeared when he was with Snape.  Lying there, next to this irascible, acerbic, powerful, courageous, redeeming creature, everything else seemed to be a dream, a blur of a memory.  The Dursleys, Hogwarts, Quidditch, even Ron and Hermione—they all were like fragments of his imagination.  All that was real was this bed that he lay upon, this person he lay beside, and the love they shared.

It had originally been so frightening.  How could he be in love, so young?  Love was something that came after years and years of companionship and affection, something that you _grew _into, like a piece of clothing.  His relationship with Snape had been nothing of the kind.  Instead of endearments, there were snarky comments and biting insults.  Instead of a peaceful, winding path, it had been like walking a shaky bridge over a canyon.  Instead of an easing transition, there was a jolt, an out-of-the-blue experience, a revelation.

It all seemed so . . . coincidental.  Harry could hardly make himself believe that it was meant to be.  It was like a chance happening, almost, and that was how Harry doubted himself the most.  Looking upon Snape's face, he could hardly resist asking, "What _would_ have happened?"  Somewhere, in the haunted dregs of his consciousness, he knew exactly what would have happened.  He and Snape would have been still arguing about his very lacking intelligence and common sense.

But yet, life didn't throw him into that path.  Life hurdled him love, full-force, in the form of Severus Snape.  It gave him something that contradicted all that he had known, all that he had thought of, all that he had believed in.  Now, he knew that he could never walk a single day again without wonder, without looking around him and smiling in amusement.  Life was all of the sudden capricious beyond belief.

It felt something like irony, that this would be the event that changed his life.  Not losing his parents.  Not fighting Voldemort for the first time.  Not winning his first Quidditch Cup.  But finding love in Snape.  

Harry didn't understand, and yet he did.  It was something like the fact that he was young, but yet he was old.

He could have very well just feigned sleep until the boy got up and left, Snape reflected, but knowing Harry as he did, that could have taken a very long time.  Instead, he resignedly opened his eyes.

Curiously, Harry was not looking at him, but staring at the ceiling as if there was some magical formula for defeating the Voldemort engraved into the timbers.  Snape had no choice but to give a small cough, to signify his awakening.

"Oh," Harry said immediately.  "You're up."

"Yes."  Snape had always been one for brevity.

"I have to . . ."

"Yes, go ahead."

"Um."

Silence.

"Well.  I guess I'm going to go, then."

Harry looked at Snape, but his professor's eyes were still downcast.  He made no move to say anything.  Harry sighed and got up.

Snape stared at that beautiful, ivory statue of a body, as the boy whom it belonged to slowly picked up his clothes from the floor and began dressing himself.  Snape sat up also.  When Harry turned, he was tying the sash on his dressing gown.  

"I'll see you."

Silence again.  Snape was staring at him, but not saying anything.  The only thing that gave him away was his one hand, twirling absently one end of his sash.

"S—Severus?"

Snape walked over and kissed him softly on the mouth.

"Well, that works too," Harry said smilingly as they parted.  "I love you."

Snape smiled as well.  "I love you."

Without another word, they began to kiss once more.  Harry wound his arms around Snape's waist and Snape's fingers ran gleefully through Harry's hair, pulling him closer.  Their kiss grew more and more insistent, more passionate, tongues fighting in a lusty dance.  Harry felt the stirrings of arousal course through him once more.  He softly bit Snape's bottom lip and they pulled apart.

"How many more minutes do we have?" he asked.

Snape stared at him for two seconds before comprehending his words.  He turned to the clock.  "Forty minutes."

"More than enough time.  And I can skip breakfast," Harry said wolfishly.  Slowly, he slipped his hands down to undo his professor's sash.  Then he stepped back and slowly stripped out of his clothing.  Harry sat down on the bed and lay down on it.

Snape looked at him, the divine body of his lover lying languorously upon his bed.  The dark green of his comforter made Harry's skin almost glow with heavenly youth.  

"Come to me," Harry whispered.  He took Snape's hands and pulled him down.  Snape lay his full length down onto him, covering his lover from head to feet.  He nipped and kissed a line from Harry's ear to his collarbone, enjoying the moans that he made.

"You're beautiful," Snape said simply as they began to make love once more.

**End.**

______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

I'm starting to love morning-after scenes.

Review, please?


End file.
